


Reckless

by quicksparrows



Series: Side by Side – Chrobin [30]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrom and his wife get it on in the tub. It does not go as planned, and stitches are required.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless

**Author's Note:**

> Clearin' out the backlog of things to finish and post :'| Also, if you are squeamish about stitches, maaaaybe skip this one, but hey, it already says that in the summary.

 

It's their tenth year, though their official anniversary is some weeks passed — Chrom and Ada are terrible at these things, paying no mind to dates and instead celebrating whenever. They've spent the day together (even if mostly in war council meetings), they've eaten dinner together (though with most of their children present) and now they have some much deserved alone-time.

Ada has drawn a bath, water milky and soft with some potions. The tub in the salon off their bedroom is a thing of rare luxury; while both have known freezing rivers and splintering old barrels to bathe in on war campaigns, there is little like this even in the homes of nobility, who take their sealed wooden tubs lined in linens as a status symbol. But not Chrom and Ada: for the Exalt and his wife in their palace in Ylisstol, there is a great marble basin set into a tiled platform. It was installed by Chrom's late father, apparently — a selfish thing from starving times. 

In these prosperous days, it is a fine thing, and one worth enjoying, which Ada does nightly and Chrom each morning, though they do switch when the mood strikes them.

And this night, Chrom peeks around the curtains that hang in the doorway with just those intentions.  
  
"May I join you?" he asks.  
  
Ada smiles, and she makes a good show of reaching for the soap dish.  
  
"Don't you start that again," he says, both warning and playful.   
  
"Well, if I can't throw things at you, I'm defenseless," Ada replies. She leans against the side of the tub with a sly look. "And if I'm defenseless, there's nothing stopping you."  
  
Chrom chuckles.  
  
"I declare an invasion then," he says, already unbuttoning his tunic as he walks over to her in long, slow steps, a bit of swagger in his hips.  
  
Ada openly watches his fingers work their way down the line of buttons to his groin, and she lets herself be still a little theatrical -- a quirk of her eyebrows, the rake of her teeth over her lower lip. A flush creeps around his face, somewhat at odds with the smirk on his mouth.  
  
"You're pretty shy for an invader," she says.  
  
"I'm disarming you," Chrom says. "It's a battle tactic."  
  
"Funny, I've never seen you strip on the battlefield," Ada says. She watches him shimmy his shoulders out of his clothes, admiring the way his muscles flex. He's built lean but strong, and her eyes follow his pants down off his hips.   
  
"Very funny," Chrom says. " _I'm_  seducing  _you_ , by the way."  
  
" _You're_  seducing  _me_?" Ada says, almost laughing. She shifts in the water, rising out of it just enough that Chrom can better see the water and soap glistening on her pale breasts. "Dear husband, I am naked in a tub with  _you_  coming in after  _me_."   
  
"Nope," he says, wagging a finger at her. "You wear the lowest cut shirt in all of Ylisse. I see those all the time."  
  
Ada laughs.  
  
"Just get in here," she orders.   
  
He kicks off his pants and steps over the edge of the tub, and Ada "helps" by pulling him in hard enough that he ends up splashing down by her. The water sloshes so hard it pours over the edge of the tub, and then rushes back to soak Chrom thoroughly. He sputters but laughs, so close his nose bumps against hers.  
  
"It's hardly invading when you're this desperate to be conquered, you know," Chrom says, as Ada moves to straddle him.  
  
" _I'm_  conquering  _you_ ," she says before capturing him in a probing kiss. Chrom braces himself against the tub, fingers tangling in her hair hard enough to pull. Even ten years out, sometimes it's fun to kiss like its a competition, all pushy and tussling.  
  
And then Chrom turns her over, rolling so he's on top of her. The tub's stone bites into Ada's shoulderblades, her legs still tight around his waist. He could turn her, but he couldn't shake her –– not that he'd want to.  
  
"Nice try," she says, and she rolls her hips hard enough that his knees nearly lose their grip on the bottom of the tub. Still, he presses back against her, catching her in another kiss. The bathwater sloshes with every grind, every little motion. "But I've got a better idea."  
  
And then Ada lets go of him, breaking from his lips but not looking away from him for even a second. She reaches to empty off the broad ledge of the tub with a sweep of her arm; little bottles of lotions and soaps go everywhere, her book clatters to the ground and some unlit candles go toppling off the edge. Chrom gets it — he lays a bracing hand on her back when she slips from the water and stretches out on the ledge on her stomach, hips at the edge of the tub. She looks back at him over her shoulder and he's presented with the striking image of her bottom pointed towards him, wet and glistening. She watches his mouth hang open — he always looks at her like its the first time — and so she brushes the inside of his thigh with her calf, her legs still dangling in the water.   
  
Who would he be, to say no to an offer like that?  
  
With a smirk, Chrom stands up in the tub, passes a hand over her ass, and then guides himself into her. The first thrust is slow, pressing her hips into the tub's edge, and then he thrusts faster. Ada scrabbles for purchase with her hands, and she slides an inch or two forward with every thrust, wet body slippery on the tile, but the squish of her thighs against the inside of the tub traps her from going too far.

And oh, the sound she makes when he finds his tempo.

Chrom thrusts away, moaning and groaning and making a good show of how much fun he's having, too. Each thrust is a good effort between the resistance of water and the height of the tub not quite being enough to be level with his own hips when standing, but with a handful of her ass, who can complain? Neither of them, certainly.

And then Chrom slips.

Ada doesn't quite see what happens, but any idiots having sex in the bath could guess. She certainly turns her head in time to see his head banging off the side of the tub, and there's a great splash as he topples over. 

"Oh my god," Ada says. She scrambles off her belly, turning to him and grasping for his shoulders as he picks himself up and his head lolls forward. "Chrom! Are you alright?!"

He touches a hand to his head, gingerly, and then he looks at her.

"Ah," he says, somewhat delayed. 

Blood runs down his face, hairline to jaw. Worsened by the water streaming out of his hair, no doubt, but Ada cringes just the same.

"That's... not looking so good," she says. Gingerly, she reaches to brush back his hair, revealing the culprit: a small but no doubt ugly gash by his hairline. It seems his nose is bleeding too, but it doesn't look broken. He'll probably have a wicked goose-egg, too. Ada breathes in sharply. "Let's get you out of the tub..."

Chrom seems a little stunned as Ada helps him up and out, but his mouth doesn't seem to be having any trouble functioning: "At least most of my blood is still elsewhere right now."

Not so funny when he's dripping blood all over the floor, but Ada is sure they'll laugh in hindsight. For now, she focuses on making sure he doesn't lose his balance and crack his head again, looping an arm around his back.

"C'mon, laugh," he says. She doesn't, but he does, a sort of disbelieving ha-ha that doesn't really convince her. 

"Okay, sit on the floor. Right here. Sit," she says, guiding him down against the wall. She glances around to quickly grab two towels from the side table, and she wraps one around his shoulders and presses the other to his head. She grabs his hand and directs him to hold it there. "Hold this firmly, you klutz."

"Are you calling me clumsy?" He says.

"Yes," she tells him, "you just usually damage the brickwork and our enemies, not yourself!"

"It's nothing a healer can't fix," Chrom says.

"You haven't seen your face right now," Ada says, watching the brilliant white towel slowly seep through with blood. "Stay here, I'm going to get help."

Chrom laughs, gesturing with his free hand at his nakedness, and then at hers. They are both wet and dappled with soap suds, and though Chrom's erection is now flagging, it has some life in it yet.  

"What are you going to tell them?" he asks.

"To mind their own business and keep stitching your pretty head closed!" Ada tells him, sharply. She heads for the door, reaching for her dressing gown as she goes. One of the sleeves is inside out, so she fumbles with it as she walks.

She pushes through the curtains to their bathroom and tromps through the bedroom only to find Frederick already in the hall, hovering near the doorway. She ties her robe shut hastily, but Frederick, as always, says nothing.

Instead, he says: "I heard you yell."

"Of course you did," Ada says. Of course. For once, she doesn't care that he is such so hideously over-attentive, or that his boundary problems have scarcely lessened with time. Ten years –– eleven including the time before she and Chrom were wed –– and Ada doubts they could still surprise him. She beckons Frederick to follow her. "Chrom fell, he hit his head..."

Frederick breezes past her, and then past the curtain. Chrom turns his head, though he's somewhat blinded by the towel.

"It's just a little cut, Frederick," Chrom says. "It'll stop on its own."

Frederick glances at the streak of blood running almost orange down the tiles and the blood soaking the towels, and then at the scattered bottles and candles and books from the tub's edge, and the water trailed everywhere.

"I see," he says, crouching down to Chrom's level. "I'm not so sure I agree with your assessment, but it is good that you have high spirits, milord."

 "It doesn't hurt," Chrom agrees. He leans forward and seems to tip a little, and Frederick rights him with one firm hand. 

Ada just rolls her eyes at this exchange as she tucks another towel under her arms and starts digging in one of the supply cabinets for any sort of medical kit. There are none to be found –– of course there isn't. No idiot Exalt has ever suffered an injury in the bath before. 

Chrom peels back the towel enough for Frederick to see, and Frederick gives a thoughtful hum. "You'll needs stitches, certainly." 

"I miss the days of elixirs," Chrom says, pleasantly enough, but he winces when Frederick pokes around his hairline.

"Elixirs are for emergencies on the battlefield," Frederick says.

"I know," Chrom says. "Can I get off the floor? My ass is falling asleep."

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," Frederick says. "Ada, will you dress him? I will prepare something more adequate."

"Yes sir," Ada says, just a little clipped, and she takes the ten steps to Chrom's wardrobe to grab a set of cotton trousers. When she hands off the towel to Frederick as he leaves, and as she crouches down at her husband's side, Chrom chuckles.

"Since when do you call him 'sir'?" Chrom asks.

"Ever since he had to deal with this ridiculousness," Ada replies, dressing her husband like a toddler and shimmying his pant legs up as far as she can before he'll need to stand. Good thing they've had multiple children. To his credit, at least Chrom helps, lifting his knees to make it easier on her.

And then, without much trouble at all, Ada boosts him under the arms to get him back on his feet. Chrom helps, too, his free hand on the wall, and when he's upright proper and she yanks his pants up around his hips, he tucks his cock away himself when it catches in the waistband.

"Do you think he ever gets tired of this?" Chrom asks.

"No," she says, "He's utterly tireless."

And then Frederick is back, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and without so much as a word he links his arm with Chrom's to march him out. Chrom can walk, wobbly as he is, but Ada flanks him on the other side just to be sure. 

"To be fair," Frederick offers, as they help Chrom down to sit on the couch in their drawing room, "it is difficult to grow tired when you two find new ways to challenge me all the time."

"That is true," Chrom says. 

She takes the towel from Chrom and reaches back to brush his bangs back, exposing the lot of it. At this point, it barely oozes, but it's not so bad. While Frederick threads a fine needle with silk thread, she pokes at it. It's a simple split, perhaps the width of her thumb.

"Three, maybe four stitches," she tells Frederick.

"His record is twenty-five," Frederick replies. He shifts closer to Chrom on the couch with some gauze, gently tamping at the area to clean it, and then he picks up the needle.

"Was that the slash Grima put on his arm?" Ada asks. "Or the fall from the horse in the woods?"

 "The fall," Chrom says. "The slash was more than that, though."

 "Sire, I count them myself every time," Frederick says. "The slash took only fifteen. Now, silence, please, so I can concentrate." 

He raises his suture hand, the point of the needle poised to pierce. Chrom barely flinches when he starts, especially as Frederick gives no warning. Still, Ada finds Chrom's hand groping for hers, and she takes it.

And then within half an hour, he is freshly stitched up and moved to his bed to rest. There, Chrom stretches out on top of the duvet and gives a sigh when Ada fluffs up a pillow under his head.

"I didn't conquer you," Chrom says, suddenly. "The battle is lost."

"You misjudged the battlefield and you suffered for it," she says, and she stretches out on her side next to him. She adds, in a conspiratorial hush: "You should have consulted a tactician."

Chrom laughs.

"Wait a minute," he says, "YOU decided to drape yourself over the tub, not me. I was only going where you led me!"

"If she led you off a cliff, would you follow?" Frederick adds, dryly. 

"Of  _course_ ," Chrom replies, without missing a beat.

"After all these years, you still think I would lead him astray?" Ada adds, mock-hurt but smiling. "Frederick... had I only known..."

"Well, milady, a harbinger of death you may no longer be, but I must keep my doubts about me when my poor lord is now laid up in bed with a cracked skull," Frederick replies. He doesn't smile, but Ada has known him long enough to know when he is being facetious. 

"Your long con has succeeded," Chrom says, and he closes his eyes. "And I have the worst headache imaginable."

Ada pets his hair gently and then looks to Frederick.

"If he loses his memory, you'll have to remind him of all the embarrassing moments of his life," Ada says.

"Nonsense," Frederick says. "I will not tease an injured man."

"Only an injured man's guilty wife, hmm?" Ada grins.

"Of course, milady," Frederick says. He picks up the medical kit and drapes the bloodied towels over his arm. "I will take care of these, you see to your husband. I will send for some servants to clean up the tub."

"Frederick, don't you ever get old on us," Ada says. "I don't know what we would do without you."

"Likely become less reckless, in order to survive," Frederick says. Decades of stern looks have spared him the laugh lines Chrom has rightfully earned, but he looks younger than his fifty-something years for it.

Ada just smiles. Frederick excuses himself, but not without the slightest smile, too.

"He's right, you know," Chrom murmurs, and he opens his eyes to look at her. His eyes are deep and dark and lovely, as always, and they meet hers unblinking and bold. Ada permits him a smooch on the rise of his cheekbone. "We are reckless."

"Who would we be, to change who we are?" Ada says, and she prods him in the side gently. "And you've been reckless since the day we met."

"Yes, but back then we were at war," Chrom says.

"We are always at war," Ada says. "We'll be at war again in two years' time. We attended five hours of war council just this morning to assess the state of Plegia and—"

Chrom puts his fingers to her lips, quietening her.

"Headache," he reminds her.

" _Reckless,_ " Ada repeats, "but I love you just as you are, cracked head and all."

Chrom chuckles.

"I would have cracked you in two if I hadn't slipped," he says.

"Cracking me in–– if you ever talk about my vagina like that again," Ada laughs, "you'll have more than just a headache."

Chrom closes his eyes again, chuckling, and he goes right to sleep.


End file.
